Bitter Sixteen

by Stefan Mohamed

  She was out, away, safe – well safer than you anyway – and I grinned triumphantly and spat in Smiley Joe’s face as he turned towards me. ‘How d’you like that? Guess you should have gone to Chicken Cottage, saved yourself some time!’ Oh yeah. Lame quips. That’s the OH NO —

  Smiley Joe threw his face forward, his impossibly wide mouth stretching even further – oh Christ oh shit he’s going to eat my head – and I ducked, brought my head up into his stomach and charged forwards, carrying him with me, using my brain and my flight to power my charge, too close for him to reach me with that horrendous mouth. I stopped in the middle of the room and he flew against the opposite wall, hitting it hard, his weight working to my advantage. He fell like an inanimate object, barely seeming to register the impact as he calmly, robotically righted himself. He lunged again and I punched him in the eye. It felt wet and malleable, like hitting jelly, and my punch had no discernible effect. His counter attack, a punch to my face, looked almost lazy, but it landed like a sledgehammer and I staggered, my vision blurring; I was pretty sure I could feel my brain bouncing between the walls of my skull. Smiley Joe thrust his head forwards and bit down, but instinct kicked in and I left the ground, rising straight up over his head, and flattened myself against the ceiling, just high enough to be safe. I lay there and tried to think straight, which was tricky while Smiley Joe was jumping up and down beneath me, biting manically. He didn’t bite like a person or an animal, though, he didn’t even seem to have jaws; it was more like a film of white skin grew over his mouth then retracted at lightning speed, making a wet, slippery noise that made me feel sick. Ig-bloody-nore it! Attack! This time I tried to throw him, wrapping invisible tentacles around his body and hurling, but he didn’t move. Somehow, he was negating my powers. Perhaps he was immune in some way?

  Or he’s just one tough bastard.

  Whatever. He’s not getting us.

  I dropped down hard, using my mind to augment gravity’s effects, and managed to knock the beast to the ground, and before he could grab me I was up and out of the room, sure that at any second I was going to feel a hand around my ankle. Our prison cell opened onto a basement area, with steps leading up to a closed door on which Tara was banging frantically. I turned and pulled the heavy prison door shut less than a second before Smiley Joe reached it. He slammed into the other side, the force of the impact causing the whole door to vibrate, and I yelped as I fumbled with the lock. Lock it lock it lock it LOCK IT!

  It’s locked.

  I did it.

  I saved us.

  I fought the child-eater!

  Well done. Let’s save the seventy-six trombones for later though, yeah?

  I stood and took in our new surroundings, breathing regularly, trying to bring my heart rate down. One dusty bulb cast less than twenty watts of glow over a dank, grimy cellar, cobwebs lining the vertices where walls met ceiling. ‘The door’s locked!’ said Tara.

  ‘Let me try,’ I said. I flexed my brain. Nothing. ‘Goddamnit.’ I looked around again. ‘There must be something . . . come on . . . think, thinkthinkthinkthink . . .’ My eyes darted from here to there and back again . . . and then they fell on a grate in the floor at the back of the basement. Lightbulb. ‘Tara! Get down here!’ I ran over to the grate, trying to ignore the sound of Smiley Joe’s fists thumping on the other side of the door, and knelt down, concentrating on the grate. Must work fast. I wrapped tentacles of brainpower around it, every one that I could spare, and pulled. It didn’t move . . . but I could definitely feel some give. This was going to work. The monster may have been able to shrug my powers off, but this was a grate, a floor, regular materials, concrete and metal. Real world stuff. I pulled again, yanking as hard as I could think, visualising the tentacles, great huge muscled implements, wrapped around with chains. The grate actually shifted a little this time.

  ‘OK,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Come on, you sonofabitch. Let’s go.’ I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and siphoned every ounce of strength that I had in my fairly slight body, channelling into a single thought, focusing. More, more. More strength. Forget your body. Brain strength. It’s infinite, you idiot. I groaned with the strain, pulling, pulling, pulling, feeling like I was ripping myself apart. COME ON, BRAIN! THIS IS BENEATH YOU! LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY!

  ‘It’s coming!’ said Tara, clapping. ‘Come on, Stanly! You’re doing it! Come on!’

  With a final heave and a strangled yell, I ripped the grate clean out of the floor, bringing bits of broken stonework with it. Tara whooped triumphantly and hugged me. ‘Yes!’

  ‘Thanks,’ I panted. ‘Come on. Get down there.’ That had taken a lot out of me, but there was still much to do. Miles to go before I slept. I wrapped a tentacle around Tara’s middle and lowered her through the hole I had created in the floor. After the grate, she seemed to weigh almost nothing. I felt her feet touch the floor below and dropped down after her, into a long, narrow white tunnel with moisture and dim lights on the walls. It curved away around a bend, disappearing into gloom, and I grabbed Tara’s hand. ‘Come on.’ We ran along the tunnel, passing endless identical lamps and electrical boxes and bricked-over doorways, and finally we reached the end, where three white steps led up to a door marked NO ENTRY. I didn’t need my powers for this, one good kick was enough to break it open.

  The door led straight into one of the main underground tunnels, pitch black and hot smelling. I listened out for trains, but heard none. They must have finished by now. I scooped Tara up and asked her if she was ready to fly, and she wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, ‘Yes.’

  Right. Here we go. I jumped out into the tunnel and flew to the right, grateful to leave the ground, to feel weightless again. It was darker than dark, and I only just managed to avoid the walls, feeling that strange underground wind, hyper-aware of the tracks crackling with electrical malevolence below. Come here my pretties, they seemed to say, let us burn you.

  Man, I really need some sleep.

  Tara held on to me tightly and didn’t say a word, and eventually we reached the platform. The trip had been years long. I looked at my watch. Quarter to three. Definitely too late for trains. Bendigedig. Would have been rubbish to escape the clutches of an evil monster and then get shmooshed.

  ‘That was cool,’ said Tara.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Now hopefully we’ll be able to get a bus from somewhere nearby. I don’t recognise the station, but there’ll be night buses. There’s always night buses. Let’s head up and have a gander around.’

  ‘OK,’ said Tara. ‘But . . . won’t it be locked up there?’ Practical kid.

  ‘I don’t think that’ll be a problem.’

  We walked up the still, silent escalators and through the underground station, vending machine sentries and peeling poster faces watching us suspiciously as I levitated us up and over the barriers. The entrance to the top was indeed blocked by a heavy metal gate, but after ripping chunks of concrete out of the floor, getting through it was child’s play. It was almost a comfort to know that if everything went catastrophically wrong, I had the option of a pretty lucrative career as a burglar.

  The city was cooler now, and much quieter. Tara was hugging herself and shivering, and I took off the blue long-sleeved shirt I was wearing over my T-shirt and gave it to her. It wasn’t much, but it was better than a poke in the eye with a blunt stick, as my mother used to say. ‘Thanks,’ said Tara.

  We found the nearest bus stop, and I worked out that it would take at least two night buses to get us back to Connor and Sharon’s. That wouldn’t do. Tara was far too tired. So was I, for that matter, so we walked until we found a cash point and I withdrew a physically painful amount of money and hailed a cab. The driver gave us a strange look but didn’t comment, and I gave him the address and off he drove. The taxi smelled faintly of sick, but compared to Smiley Joe’s nightmare dungeon it was a luxury limo.

 
We arrived outside the house. The lights were on, and for the first time it occurred to me that I might be in trouble. Oh dear. Best go back to the child-eater’s dungeon, then. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

  Tara nodded sleepily. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘We’re here now.’ I paid the taxi driver significantly less than I’d been expecting – although to be fair I’d been expecting a fortune – and we walked up the path. I rang the bell, and somebody rushed down the hall and opened the door, and I looked into Sharon’s face. She was wearing her fish pyjamas and a dressing gown, and there were huge bags under her eyes, and she immediately grabbed me and pulled me into a hard hug. ‘Oh, thank God,’ she said, over and over again.

  Tara was caught between us, but she was quiet and kept her arms wrapped around me for the duration of the embrace. I felt safe in Sharon’s arms, but if I let myself become too comfortable I felt like I might lose my composure and start freaking out, so I broke the hug and tried to sound casual. ‘It’s all right. We’re fine.’ We went through to the living room and Sharon looked down at the little girl. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Hi,’ Tara yawned. ‘My name’s Tara.’

  ‘Long story,’ I said. I knelt down and said, ‘We’ll take you back to Mr and Mrs Rogers tomorrow, OK? Just for tonight you’ll sleep here. All right?’

  At that moment Daryl galloped in. He was about to speak, but then he saw Tara and simply barked a greeting. I wasn’t used to hearing him bark. It wasn’t hugely convincing. ‘Daryl,’ I said. ‘Take Tara upstairs to my room. I’ll sleep down here tonight.’

  Daryl barked and started to walk up the stairs. Tara followed him. ‘I’ll be up in a little while,’ I said. ‘OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tara, staggering upstairs after my dog.

  Sharon watched them until they were out of sight, then turned to me and spoke in a low voice. ‘What the hell is going on? Who is that?’

  ‘Connor and Eddie told you what happened?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, but —’

  I don’t generally like to interrupt, but I had to. ‘After I left Blue Harvest I caught up with the gunman. I pummelled him, and then I . . . I was knocked out. Or chloroformed, or something. When I woke up the two of us were locked in some sort of bunker.’

  ‘Chloroformed? Bunker? By who?’

  ‘Smiley Joe.’

  Sharon went pale. ‘Are you —’

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘We were there for a long time, but when he finally came in I managed to fight him off and lock him in there. As far as I know he’s still there. Then we came back here.’

  She nodded. ‘OK.’ Her voice was barely there.

  ‘Where are the other two?’ I asked.

  Now her voice – and the colour in her cheeks – returned remarkably quickly. ‘Looking for you!’ she said. ‘Where do you think they are?’

  ‘I’m sorry I worried you,’ I said, ‘but we don’t have a lot of time. Smiley Joe is locked up. He’s contained. We have to call Eddie and Connor, and we have to go and kill him once and for all.’

  ‘Stanly!’ protested Sharon. ‘This is not the time for —’

  ‘There’s literally never been a better time.’ I pointed up the stairs. ‘He was going to eat her! Her. That tiny thing. He’s killed so many. Too many. It’s way past his time.’

  Sharon seemed ready to protest again, but thought better of it. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Right. Um.’ OK then. Thunderbirds are go. ‘Does Connor have his phone on him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Call him,’ I said. ‘Tell the two of them to meet me on the street outside White City.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Is Kloe OK?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s fine,’ said Sharon. ‘She’s back at her aunt’s. Her aunt was fairly hysterical.’

  Relief and remorse flooded my body, bursting bubbles and flavouring my blood, and I almost collapsed from it. No time for that.

  No time.

  ‘Call them,’ I said. ‘I’m going upstairs.’

  Sharon picked up the phone and I ran up to my room. Daryl was standing guard at the door, a beagle trying to be a wolf. ‘Is she all right?’ I whispered.

  ‘Didn’t say much. I think she’s asleep already.’

  ‘Will you watch over her?’

  ‘Of course. Something’s going down, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ I said. ‘We’re going to kill him. Smiley Joe.’

  He wanted to come, I could tell, but I’d given him a job, and he was going to do it. ‘I don’t suppose I need to tell you —’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said ‘Just . . . look after her.’ I stepped past him and pushed the door open slightly. Tara looked very, very small underneath the duvet. She was definitely asleep. Snug as a bug in a rug, whatever that means. Her expression was peaceful, her breathing light. I hoped she was having happy dreams. Her serenity had a calming effect on me, and I took a few seconds to rein in my adrenaline and even attempt a smile before leaving the room. ‘You can sleep on the bed,’ I said. As though he needs my permission. ‘I expect she’ll like the company.’

  Daryl nodded. ‘Stanly?’

  ‘Daryl?’

  ‘Come back in one piece, yeah?’

  That made me laugh. ‘I’ll try my best.’

  Sharon had made the call. ‘They’ll meet you,’ she said. ‘Be prepared – they’re a wee bit pissed off with you.’

  ‘Fair dos,’ I said. ‘Thanks for that.’ I pocketed a London A-Z and pulled on my trenchcoat, which made me feel at least fifty per cent more like a monster killer. Plus, warm. ‘We’ll keep in touch.’

  ‘Be careful,’ said Sharon.

  ‘I will.’ We hugged tightly, and Sharon whispered, ‘You are infuriating.’

  ‘Thanks. Make sure Tara’s all right, please?’

  Sharon nodded. I opened the door and went back out into a night full of demons.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  THE MOON WAS full, which seemed appropriate somehow, and as I touched down in the shadows a little way from White City and replaced the A-Z in my pocket, I suddenly thought that it might have made sense for me to fly Tara straight home earlier, rather than faffing around with taxis. Well done. Could have saved time and money.

  Needed to recharge, though.

  Important.

  Big boss battle this way comes.

  I headed for the station, coat blowing in the wind, trying to feel like a badass, and wondered whether we’d come out of this alive, which was a fairly un-badass thought.

  Of course we will. Three of us this time, remember? One of you the first time, and you survived.

  We weren’t on the offensive then. And he’s indestructible, or something.

  Nothing’s indestructible.

  Unless he is.

  Shut up, brain.

  But —

  Shut up, brain.

  Now Eddie and Connor came into view and my stomach tensed. Connor was facing away from me, a column of smoke rising from his hidden face, but Eddie immediately saw me. ‘Stanly!’ He ran over and hugged me, and I let him, but when he pulled away he looked furious. ‘Don’t you ever do anything like that again.’ What am I, seven years old? ‘For God’s sake, you could have been killed!’

  ‘Wasn’t,’ I said. ‘I’m fine. Bollock me later, OK? This is more important.’

  Eddie breathed deeply and clenched his fists, but he nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  Connor threw away his cigarette. ‘You OK?’ His voice was oddly level, as though he was angry but knew it was pointless expressing it.

  ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Are you two game for this?’

  They both nodded. ‘You got a plan?’ asked Connor, which was surprising but gratifying.

  ‘As far as I know, he’s locked in a bunker underground,’ I said. ‘Near an entrance to
the Tube. The actual tunnel the train goes through. Pretty sure it’s under a warehouse, so I figured that if we find the warehouse, we find the monster. And then kill the shit out of him.’

  ‘Sounds plan-like.’

  You’ve changed your tune. ‘I thought you didn’t believe in him,’ I said. ‘You said so yourself.’

  A grim smile. ‘I say a lot of things.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘Ready?’

  Eddie nodded. ‘Let’s get rambling.’

  There were many, many warehouses, and they all looked infuriatingly similar. Some were in use, but most of them were dusty and boarded up and full of empty crates. We searched among frozen conveyor belts and cobwebs and cardboard and junk for over an hour, combing basements and breaking open doors, and at no point did anyone say more than was absolutely necessary. There were things I was dying to know – how had Kloe seemed, did the police want to speak to me, were there any more survivors, was Hannah OK, what had happened to Billy – but finding and annihilating Smiley Joe took precedence. We were on a mission. We were the hunters, finally. This was what I knew we were made for, why some random act of nature had cursed or blessed us with these powers. Doing good. Protecting things that needed protecting. This was why I’d come to the city in the first place.

  I thought it was because you ran away because Ben King arsed up your play.

  You can’t even let me have a few seconds of righteousness? There are things that need protecting. People. Like Kloe and Tara. Plus, if I’ve learned anything from comics, it’s that I should be free to retcon my own plan at any time.

  That string of thoughts made another occur. ‘This is a bit sexist really, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’ asked Eddie, tossing aside a couple of boxes, looking for gratings.

  ‘The three guys out hunting monsters,’ I said, ‘the women at home. Kloe at her aunt’s, Sharon looking after Tara.’